


we are Nuclear

by aflyawaykindaday



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color, Spicy Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflyawaykindaday/pseuds/aflyawaykindaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t want to wait tonight, is tired of starting everything they do with a speech or a foreword.</p><p>Tonight, he just wants her. No overtures, no explanations, just him and her and that orange-rose lip-gloss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are Nuclear

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspired by the mental image of Kaidan in low-slung jeans. It just kinda took off from there.
> 
> Warning(s): Vague mentions of sexual activities via Kaidan's naughty thoughts. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect in any way, shape, or form outside my legally bought copy of the trilogy. I do own this fic.

It’s not his kind of place.

A wealth of people, the sweaty movement of bodies, a pumping, booming bass that would normally  _scream_  “migraine!”

It’s not his chosen scene, his preferred space, his ideal way to spend a rare chance at leave.

So why is he having such a great time?

The dance floor is pitch black, shot through with neon colors, blues and pinks and oranges and greens and every shade in between. They’re so bright against the retinas they look like constellations, like they should illuminate the spaces around them like little miniature suns. Instead they light only the spots of wall and floor they occupy, splashes of fluorescence on the arms and torsos and faces of every person present, including himself.

Kaidan can’t remember ever donning so many bright colors at once. But here he is, decked out in orange and green and pink paints, his shirt wrinkled and untucked and his jeans beginning to ride low (and lower still) on his hips. He’s dancing to a rhythm he can barely keep up with, his arms swaying, his hips jiving, his feet threatening to tangle, to trip him at any moment, send him crashing to the star-spangled ground below, and somehow, _somehow_ , it’s all equating to him having the time of his life.

Someone bumps into him, makes him stumble, and he looks over his shoulder to see Jack bouncing to the beat, utterly oblivious to anything else. She dances from spot to spot, moves the entire time, and he’s surprised to see her come up on Miranda, only for them both to fall into the other’s pattern, their movements in sync to the bass of the music. The both of them are just as decked in color as he is, flashy and bright, and he can’t help but grin to himself.

If anyone had the ability to get those two moving in harmony while spattered in yellow and violet, if anyone could get their entire  _crew_  on the dance floor, loose-limbed and neon-coated and  _happy_ , it would be the woman in front of him.

Shepard must be the hardest one moving. Her arms twist in elaborate patterns above her head while her legs keep the rhythm down below, the black, color-shot coils of her hair free and flailing about her face like he’s only ever seen in the privacy of her quarters. Her hips are like waves, undulating in a way he doesn’t fully understand but can’t keep away from. If the splashes of neon on the walls and floor are miniature suns, she’s a supernova, her skin a dark brown canvas of color, ocean blue and emerald green and N7 red, her cheeks glitter-dusted and her eyelids striped with glowing lavender. Her lips are a shade he can’t quite identify, a glimmering orange rose that almost reminds him of the sunsets seen over his parents’ orchard if not for the obscene thoughts accompanying it. He’s never wondered how a sunset would feel against his mouth, his neck, closed tight around his –

That must be the alcohol kicking in. He only had one shot, a shared toast amongst the crew to start off the festivities. Still, the cocktail had been a sharp, unknown, Asari-made thing, swirling with edible glitter and glowing with its own purplish tint. It had been a dare more than anything, but it had done the trick, lowered his inhibitions just enough to join the others on the dance floor when Shepard grabbed his hands with a toothy grin and maneuvered him to the center of the fray with James and Tali and Steve. Within the hour, they all found themselves at the center of the floor, drawn by the invisible strings Liara once said bound them to one another, either by want or by design. He doesn’t think this is exactly how she meant it, but it seems to hold true regardless; how else could Garrus be convinced to outline his crest in nuclear blue, or Jacob to spray-paint his hair metallic silver, or Thane to add a smattering of glitter to the red of his throat?

The same way Miranda and Jack are currently sharing a round of those shots, their hips bumping in time to the boom of the music.

 _Magic_ , some would call it.  _Shepard_ , they know to be the real cause.

Yeah, he thinks, giving his head a shake, that’s _definitely_ the alcohol.

Shepard’s thumbs have hooked into his denims, half controlling the movement of his hips. Kaidan looks down at her, sees her smiling widely at him. “You alright?” she asks, their bodies pressed close enough together for her to speak at a relatively normal volume. The movement of her lips is mesmerizing under the shock of color, and he blinks before nodding. “You sure? No migraine coming on?”

Kaidan shakes his head. “I’m good,” he ensures, and leans in to kiss her for her consideration. She laughs loud and grand when he tries to keep it going, and he laughs with her because he can, because she tastes wonderful and feels wonderful and, where his nose buries itself in her neck, smells like citrus and freedom and ‘I don’t give a fuck’.

Speaking of…

“Can I see you later?” he asks into her throat, without preamble, opens his mouth over her pulse while he’s at it. Shepard buries her fingers in his hair, drags them through the thick curls that sweated out of his quaff some hours ago, hums indulgently so it vibrates against his lips, heated and inviting.

“Later?” She tugs him closer, molds them together until the only space between them is that between their lips. “Later sounds like a long time.” The shrewdness in her smile makes him chuckle.

“Maybe sooner?”

“I like sooner. Sooner is good.” She tilts her head, looks up at him with curious eyes. “No prelude, Major? That was surprisingly blunt.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Should I not have been?” He doesn’t want to wait tonight, is tired of starting everything they do with a speech or a foreword.

Tonight, he just wants her. No overtures, no explanations, just him and her and that orange-rose lip-gloss.

Apparently she agrees, because in the next second her sunset mouth is on his again, open and welcoming and warm as their teeth click and their tongues entwine. He envelops her in his arms, runs his hands down her back and over her waist and around her undulating hips and back again, for once unconcerned with witnesses. A new song has just started, and the crowded bodies around them let out a celebratory shout; they couldn’t care less about a couple of humans too wrapped up in each other to heed the music, the moan that one lets out as the other brushes a purposeful finger across a low waistband.

“How ‘bout now?” Shepard’s breath explodes against his lips when they part, her painted eyes heavy-lidded and glimmering. “Now sounds better than soon.”

Kaidan touches his forehead to hers, closes his eyes and gulps in deep breaths to try to slow his heart. Shepard’s hands run gently over his face, smooth against his lightly stubbled cheeks, and he chuckles when she plants a kiss on his nose. “Now sounds perfect.”

The following minutes are spent navigating the heavy throng of bodies, their hands tightly clasped as Shepard leads. They pass Wrex by the bar, who lets out a loud guffaw at the sight of them. “Was wondering when you two would get out of here,” he rumbles, thin lips curled. “I could smell the hormones from here.”

“Night, Wrex.” Shepard reaches out and kisses the krogan’s glittered, pink-striped cheek, ignoring his tease. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t break each other. We’ve still got a war to win.”

“We’ll try not to, Wrex.” Kaidan claps a hand on his friend’s huge shoulder as they pass. Their steps quicken as they arrive at the less congested lounge area, the music muted and the cheers of the crowd seemingly far away. Shepard looks over her shoulder at him, teeth glinting bright when she grins at him with a wink, and he laughs, speeding his steps until he’s next to her, can wrap his arm around her shoulders as she winds her own around his waist. Right before they reach the exit, he catches his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors of the hall, takes in the mess of hair on his head spray-painted a bold shade of “biotic blue,” and smiles, kissing the top of Shepard’s head.

No, it’s not his chosen scene, his preferred space, his ideal way to spend a rare chance at leave.

Under the circumstances, though, with this supernova of a woman at his side, he thinks he can make an exception, just this once.


End file.
